poems

The Shore of Silence |  Taraneh Javanbakht - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

The Shore of Silence | Taraneh Javanbakht

Grumbled again the tired wave of travel
in the charm of being in love with the
shore of silence. The reminiscences of
slavery were the bitter mysteries of its
seclusion. Finally in freedom it intended
not to like except the sad melodies. It
addressed the thirsty soil with its clamour:
“O! soil, my melodies for you became
the collisions of hope, my drops for you
the witnesses of life, I only demand you
to think alike, you became the quiet share
for my zenith.”
The noble share answered in this way:
“O! wave, pride of my stature, spectator
of my captivity, firmness of my body,
your breast is my sky, honour of the
sea-mother, hero of waters! The years
this silence nestled in my heart. The
oppression of the brand of the sunshine,
acquaintance of my wound, the sky is not
any more a sympathetic friend for me,
the story of the stars is not in my mouth,
the captivity of earth became my bitter
narrative.”

More at http://www.javanbakht.net.

Choke Hold Gag Reflex |  Scott Thomas Outlar - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

Choke Hold Gag Reflex | Scott Thomas Outlar

Up on the steep roof
blowing leaves from the gutter
I come to realize
an appreciation
of just how precious
and precarious
every single step in life is
One slip
might mess you up

Walking along beside the street
watching cars pass in the cold of night
I get a craving
for some fresh air
not just stale smoke
tailpipe smog fest
One breath
might seize the lungs

Staring straight at the TV screen
going numb in every neuron
I found a trance
with the program
turn my head off
and get sucked in
to the shallow waves
One hour
might drain all soul

Sitting down for a warm meal
dinner table with the heat on
I know it’s true
that the energy used
to keep me safe from cold
comes at the sad expense
of stealing Earth’s black gold
One drill
might shift the plates

Catching flak in my own mind
for creature comforts of the modern life
It’ll drive you mad trying to save the world
it’s all illusion, Lord, just lay me down

Sleeping soundly between satin sheets
snug and cozy carefree nonchalance
I paid my dues throughout the day
won’t wear a millstone through the night

More at http://17numa.wordpress.com/.

I Am Gasoline |  Susan Marie - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

I Am Gasoline | Susan Marie

reassemble
my
thought
with visions and goals
dreams and ideals
a sustainable life
something more
than this
current
societal
existence

rejuvenate
my
body
arms
splayed
outstretched
before you
your feast
my mouth
your escape
my holy altar
your salvation

regenerate
my
blood
so that it
brings me
sweet breath
open your mouth wide,
dear
allow it to flow
into your own
be a
shining white
beacon
of
hope

be all of this and more
for me, you, us

this most divine union
of souls
is meant
to change

everything

let us rejoice
and bring them all
back home
to the land
the silt
the rich green grass
emerald
the climbing vines
and meadows
the cool deep streams
and the air we breathe

oh, so pure
the ether

let us bring it all
together
again

let us set fire to the sky
awaken oceans
raging, angry
let us call thunder
alerting the Earth
to shiver and quake
like my thighs
alabaster
like your deep rich eyes
boring down upon me now
like the volcanic rumbling
of every tired human voice

let us torch ourselves
this world must be reborn

i am gasoline
and you are my match

let us awaken the angels
so their choirs are heard
in all worlds
divine

like when we first met
a hazy rendition
of tidal waves
and dolphins dancing

ecstatic

More at http://www.suemarie.info. Poem on audio at https://soundcloud.com/susan-marie/i-am-gasoline.

Stockholm Syndrome's Romance |  Scott Thomas Outlar - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

Stockholm Syndrome's Romance | Scott Thomas Outlar

It’s always going to come
just as strong
as you can take.
It’s always going to hurt
just enough
to not quite kill.
It’s always going to burn
like ice
on an open wound.
It’s always going to beat
the will out of you
and then apologize in the morning.
It’s always going to say
I love you
once you’re on the mend.

More at http://dissidentvoice.org/author/scottthomasoutlar/.

De-Cluttering |  Sheikha A. - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

De-Cluttering | Sheikha A.

I have been plucking emptiness tonight.
I leapt a decade today; spring-cleaning
fourteen years of dust caked memories
I never otherwise discarded
believing they were in some way tied
to a magic of time turning,
but fourteen years of allowing flakes
of texts, notes and academic trajectories
grow into piles of amassing sloth,
I would watch my large black files wilt
from its handling into boxes first,
plastic bags next, promising
to visit them ‘one day’ when I’d
have no other diversions, keeping
them waiting, and finally turning
yellow, as did my time. Not knowing
how to revive the voices in the words,
I tried smelling them alive,
but the fading evidences of my past
wouldn’t resuscitate –

cache empty,
dust wiped clean,
no more clutter,
shelves breathing,

it doesn’t feel like spring.

More at http://sheikha82.wordpress.com.

Believe |  Sydney Lynn - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

Believe | Sydney Lynn

When you put that bottle to your lips I am afraid that I will never
make you feel that way.

When you stumble home calling me baby, and telling me that I am
beautiful and perfect, I am afraid that you will never say those words
to me sober.

When you wake up smelling like vodka and cheap beer, I am afraid that
that smell will never fade.

And if one night when it gets to be too much, you tell me that you
love me, I am afraid that I will believe you.

More at http://sydneylynnpoetry.tumblr.com.

Mom, Was Jesus A Skinner? |  Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne - Contemporary Poetry Website Featuring Notable Poems

Mom, Was Jesus A Skinner? | Richard William Kirkpatrick-Thorne

It Listens,
Long Waxed-Legged Like In Dali,
Carnivorous On Its HindSight While Footing Fifty,
No Dead Skin Upon Its Elbows,
Floating Its Heels ALong The Linoleum Slide,
No Pores WithIn Its Face,
It Does Not Breathe To Subsist…

It Can Bend Its Knees Back,
When Under The Bridge,
To Tease Curfew InTo Its Open Skirt,
Playing In Limbo Rouged As Any Bimbo Bell-Ringer Could,
Kneeling For The Knell To Deliver…

To Pucker Up A Golden Arch… Or Suck Around The Clap…


Opaque And Split-Second Quick,
Sticking Its Mouth Through The Threshold,
Its Body Invisible To All But Its Fraternity,
With A Flower On Its Cap… Or Several Inches Beneath The Rafters,
Hidden By The Whites Of Its Lies…

It Pokes And Molests Those Sleeping,
As Diplomacy Watches From A Bubble…


It Hatches New Goofs For Its Nursery Terns,
Boxing The Ears For X’s And O’s,
Then It Disappears From Breakfast For The Chance Of Trickle-Down,
For A Drip-Feed From Sourced Code To Hack And Conquer…

Then… Ascot-Cotton’d Or Scarf-Silken’d Or Neck Bared,
It Returns To SweetTalk Those By The SideWalk…


And, With No Bicycles Constructed Tall Enough For Its Shadow,
The Skinner Leans Chainless Against The Back-Drop,
Easeing InTo The Bricks For Its Mother Of Periphery,
As It Allows For Distraction To Wipe Its Collar Clean.

More at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca/2014/10/mom-was-jesus-skinner.html.

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